


goals to be heroes

by robottophobic



Category: Senyuu.
Genre: Gen, have i mentioned i love writing ross flicking alba's forehead its in nearly everything i write, its really cliche, mostly just description, ross gettin sorta salty abt his past, they hold hands or whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7715131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robottophobic/pseuds/robottophobic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ross decides to ask alba how he feels about their favorite legendary hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	goals to be heroes

**Author's Note:**

> as i said this was mostly jsut to test my ability to write scenes and minor interactions. also i wanted to convey a certain hopelessness i feel like ross feels about himself. it's all weird headcanon stuff but i hope you enjoy it anyway

The fire from the lantern was swelling up; it was the only thing Ross could fix his eyes on, the way the flame ate the air around it and fell back into its place. Like it was trying to escape, become its own entity, and consume everything. He can feel its images burn into his eyes, but it was by far the most interesting thing in this cave, the only thing to even pay attention to. Yet, he could’ve just as well had his eyes on the other motion around him, Alba writing his words on the page, whatever they may’ve been, or the steady rise and fall of his chest, even. Maybe that was a bit too much, though. Through it all, the Hero still didn’t really like attention, Ross noticed, even though he’d acted like it, when children would give him those starry looks in their eyes and he’d laugh, wave, bashful as he went. Well, they’d all played their parts, he supposed, though his own had fallen horrifically out of place. A thousand years misaligned and even then everything he’d tried to do, he’d meant to do, had still failed, unraveled, frayed strands that Alba came back and tied up into neat bows.

_…Was that right?_ He supposed so. It wasn’t like the Hero Creasion was really anything special. The people of Originia simply didn’t know better—sure, he’d sealed the Demon King, but, that was it. There was no defeating, he was still a threat to the future, and even if he’d have stayed dead back then, surely, someone would’ve risen by now to defeat him in Creasion’s place. _Was that right?_ It sounded like it, in his head. The fact that he’d even sealed him in the first place was just to buy time for another, more experienced hero to fix things. And one did, somehow, though yet again, Ross had no honest part. What was he doing, when Alba was fighting monsters, searching, making himself better? Fending off a breakdown in the Dimensional Rift while demons danced around and laughed at him. Well, thinking about it that way, that certainly was pathetic. And what’s he doing right now, when Alba’s studying his magic, writing his papers, still working to be the most powerful human alive? Losing himself in thought, doubting himself, wasn’t he. Ross squints, a heavy _“tch”_ breaking the silence he’d drowned himself in. Alba jumped as if it were a gunshot, eyes immediately darting upwards and away from his work.

…Well. Wasn’t that nice of him. Now he’s just being a distraction.

In that strange sort of way his body liked to conduct itself he was acting without being able to mentally catching up, and Ross found himself asking a question, something stuck far down in the back of his mind. His expression was cold, eyes narrowed, nothing possibly betraying the actual curiosity that was biting at him. “… _Hero,_ ” Ross couldn’t even meet his gaze; he didn’t want the concern he knew he’d find there. “…What do you think, of Creasion. That hero.” He found himself leaning onto his arms, elbows rested on the table. Eyes looking anywhere but at Alba, anywhere but at the motion, anywhere he could’ve found stillness.

Alba seemed to register the weight of this question, and put his pencil down. Still, he was staring, trying to puzzle out Ross’s demeanor, figure out what could possibly be troubling him enough to even ask this question. He was more worried than anything. The problem remained, though, that all he could do was give his honest answer, and he took in a breath, pushing his hair out of his face. “…that hero, huh.” A smile played onto his face, and though Ross couldn’t see it, it was audible in his tone. “…Well! I’ve always looked up to him, I guess. Going up against Rchimedes all by himself, I thought it was really cool when I was younger, yep.”

Immediately, another sound from Ross bit the air, it was something harsh, grating, a groan but closer to a choke. There was irritation and discomfort willed into its half-second, something that stopped Alba from continuing at all or even breathing. Now, more than anything, Ross felt the weight of Alba’s expression on him. He still didn’t need to look. It was impossibly heavy: concern, surprise, distress, confusion, and even more weight he couldn’t possibly stomach processing. Sorting through the burst of emotion he’d just felt was proving to be a horrendously difficult task, but underneath it Ross found something. Alba’s answer struck deep but it wasn’t _right_ , it really was _wrong_ , and inherently, Ross hated the fact that someone he’d come to trust so thoroughly still thought these naïve things about the original hero. His words were a mumble, now, he couldn’t bring himself to throw these weights onto Alba all at once. Quietly, very quietly, he offers, “…no, not that. Right now, I mean. What do you think of him, right now.” It sounds like a demand, but in Alba’s heart he knows that it’s definitely a pleading statement.

So, the hero releases the breath he forgot he was holding. Right. Something about…something about…when he was younger, he supposed, made Ross upset. Okay. That was fair. He bites his lip. How was he supposed to answer this, this time? Alba didn’t really have an opinion other than that of someone who’s…dead? Was the Hero Creasion dead? No, was the straight answer. But he knew _that_ wasn’t what Ross wanted either. Why was he even being asked this question to begin with, on that note, and why was it so important? The words he speaks come from the very back of his throat, they’re low, unsure. “…I mean… _right now_ , he’s my best friend, and so, he’s very important to me, even the one in the story books. I think it’s safe to say he’s the reason I am who I am.” Alba tripped up on his emotions towards the end, but he was confident in that answer, now that it had been said. His eyes fix harder to Ross, watching for a reaction, hoping for one better than the first he’d elicited.

It seems to go through finely. Ross lifts his head from his hands, some sort of pleasantly surprised expression on his face…but it was so brief Alba almost missed it, he had no time to enjoy the fact that he’d caused that kind of emotion to begin with. Well. At least the answer he gave seemed to be a proper one. Yet Ross’s expression fell again, this time without a sound. He returns to something pensive, something unsure, something that looks ready to fall apart. Alba found his heart falling at the fact that Ross still refused to even look at him.

“…well, I’m sure he’d be glad to hear that.” It didn’t take much to understand that there was an important reason for Ross to be referring to Creasion as someone else—Alba seemed to feel more than think about that, there was a certain degree of separation Ross needed from that far in his past, though it hurt the hero to think about, it was what it was. “…I just don’t think he was really much of a hero, you know.”

_There it was_. Alba’s eyes widened, the realization came in a single hot flash and left all the same with nothing but stomach-turning emotions boiling in his head. _Not much of a hero_. All at once Alba understood, and opened his mouth to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. _Not much of a hero_. What could possibly make Ross think that? Impulsively he reached out, catching Ross’s wrist with his hand. There’s something incredibly heavy in that statement, he needs to find it and figure out its answer, to understand it, to… “… _Ross_.” And there _he_ goes, speaking without thinking about it first, but he’s already gone, motormouth as he is. “What makes you say that? He’s a legendary hero for a reason, he saved the Demon World, he saved his friend, he’s –“

Again, Ross makes _that sound_ , and again, Alba’s heart falls. Ross’s voice comes through his teeth; it’s almost like a growl, though he makes no move to free his hand. “He’s none of that. A different hero saved his friend, a different hero saved the Demon World.” After a long, devastating pause, he adds, “…a better hero.”

Alba _understands_. Like the atmosphere itself were coming in around him and trying to crush him, his frame falls, he wrenches Ross’s wrist to maintain his upright position. Ross was right, Alba knew he was right, but there was something different to his words, something wrong. His breathing quickened. Faster this time, he offers his response. “…No—no, listen, for so long the world was fine, he saved his time, he saved a millennia—“

In a split second Ross severs Alba’s sentence and raises his voice, emotions snowballing badly. “…then why is he still _alive_ , if he saved _his_ time?” That degree of separation Alba had noted _crumbled_ with that sentence, and the hero found the wind badly knocked out of him. His grip on Ross’s wrist loosens, he finds himself staring at the ground. There was a response he had prepared for this, he knew there was, but his bearings had scattered and Ross seemed intent on making sure he’d never recover them. “…What even is _his_ time? What did he even accomplish that _didn’t_ need to be fixed by you later?” His emotions had exploded but he was trying his best to contain them, this was supposed to be a level conversation, but of course, he’d gotten out of hand. 

“..Ross, he—“ There wasn’t anything Alba had prepared to add to that, and he stopped speaking, stopped breathing, stopped thinking. Trying to channel any sort of clarity from this, Alba slid his hand up to actually circle Ross’s fingers and he gave his entire lung capacity in a single exhale. His expression lit up now, in some burst, fire behind his eyes like the lantern that still flickered. The hero’s voice took on its own insistence, Alba willed firmness into it. “…He saved everyone, saved Ruki’s father, saved a thousand years and all the people in it, saved _me_ —“ Intensity. The boy’s grip on Ross’s hand was becoming closer to a vice by the second. Ross’s breathing quickened; the hero knew he was having trouble coming to terms with the words. “…And I’m glad he’s still around, so… I don’t think that’s a problem, right?”

…

More of that burning silence. But it was in contemplation, Alba noticed, Ross’s expression had evened out and he even seemed a little serene, as he was. Well, that’s that, but the fact that Ross even felt the need to bring this topic up at all still turned over and over in his stomach. He knew why, of course he did, but he didn’t want to accept it, couldn’t possibly accept it. There was no way that, in some side by side, that either of them could be compared as heroes. Their goals were different, their circumstances, their entire lives… his fingers curl against the pages of his book; there was something really, really wrong about this whole conversation…

“…Sorry, hero.” 

Something so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

“…I don’t really know what I’m saying.”

_Understandably_ , Alba muses, but he decides not to say that. Instead, he nods, closing his eyes. It was kind of incredible, the difference the action made in the situation, there were no lamps or cave walls or hands or papers, just himself and Ross; he leaned back in his chair. His words are incredibly gentle, a test of the current waters. “…I don’t know why _you’re_ apologizing. You’ve done enough for all of us for one lifetime.”

A gentle sound comes now, a small laugh, and Ross finds himself gazing now at Alba, taking in his expression, and finding not an ounce of weight in it, rather, it lifts so much from his shoulders. This time, it had been safe to look, and he mirrored Alba’s smile. “…you’re right, I guess.” Ross rolled his eyes, freeing his hand only to lace his fingers between Alba’s. Then, with that done, he raised his other arm to flick Alba’s forehead. “…For _once_.”

“… _Ow!_ Hey!” The hero flinched and grabbed his head, shocked and offended. What did he do to deserve this? Did he deserve this? He supposed he should’ve expected it, but he didn’t, not at a time like this… “… _Why?_ ”

“…No _real_ reason.” Playing it safe, with a safe response, something that couldn’t possibly betray the fact that Ross still felt residual doubt in his heart. But there was nothing Alba could really do about that, not as they were. Again, he found himself staring at the lantern, but smiling this time. It hurt to think about, that Creasion was such a mess, his entire life’s work, but now, he’d handed the torch off. He didn’t need to be special. Didn’t mean to be, didn’t try to be. His mind still rang with the fog on its edges, vague sadness, a lack of fulfillment, but what could be done about that either? Out of the corner of his eye he notices Alba smile again and take back to the work on his pages. Isn’t that what he’d been working for, all along?

Friends, and a world where they could smile because of him…he’d never seen it that way, but maybe there was no better ending he could ask for.


End file.
